


Devotion in All Things

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Series: Holly's Round Eight H/C Bingo Card [1]
Category: The Diabolic Series - S. J. Kinkaid
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: Tyrus has long since learned not to touch her or talk to her when she wakes like this, the bruises and broken bones and collapsed lungs from the countless times he's tried to help her while she shakes teaching him patience in a way that her words cannot.Nemesis continues to learn how to live without Sidonia.





	Devotion in All Things

Every few months Nemesis wakes with a jolt, shaken to the core with the realization that Donia's dead. Often it's nightmares that wake her, the vision of Donia's mottled skin overwhelming her, making her forget herself. She shakes and shivers and tries to remember why she's still alive when Donia's _dead_ , and more than once she's almost tried to brain herself on the headboard before she regains control of her faculties and her memories. Cygna. The Emperor. Elantra. _Tyrus_. It's always an effort, but she always, always drags herself back form the edge of the nightmares with the knowledge that Donia would have wanted her alive. Safe. _Happy_. It sometimes doesn't feel like it should be enough, but, somehow, it always is. She's living for Donia just as much as she's living for herself and for Tyrus, and maybe, one day, that will be enough.

Tyrus has long since learned not to touch her or talk to her when she wakes like this, the bruises and broken bones and collapsed lungs from the countless times he's tried to help her while she shakes teaching him patience in a way that her words cannot. Instead, he lies still, keeping his breathing even as though with sleep despite his wakefulness. Instead, he waits until she stills and the fight goes out of her. Instead, he gives her time to calm before sitting up, or rolling over to face her, his eyes gentle and patient as he goes on waiting. And every time, she rewards him. Not with kisses or touches, but with tiny, deliberate insights into her life with Donia. Her life with the Impyreans. Her life before Chrysanthemum and becoming an impostor and the realization that she could be so much more than what she'd been led to believe. She doesn't know why he thinks these insights precious, but the first time he'd waited long enough for her to calm before he'd held her, he'd asked. _Will you tell me about her?_ he'd asked, and she hadn't known how to refuse him anything, devastated as she'd been.

So she'd told him. Of Donia's love of the stars, her devotion to her faith, her skill at sculpting. Small moments and sweeping gestures. Her eyes and her smile and her laugh. All the things Nemesis had neither understood nor appreciated when Donia had been alive, all laid bare for Tyrus in a way she never would have believed possible the first time she'd thought Donia dead, and yet now seem to come as simply as breathing. It makes it easier, somehow, to let him share the burden, to halve the pain she can feel so deeply embedded in her chest. Donia's gone—there can be no doubt about that now—but telling Tyrus stories about her lets her live on in Nemesis' mind.

Which is why, the night Nemesis wakes up with her heart in her throat from a dream in which she had held Donia in her arms and seen her smile and felt her love as she hadn't in far too long, the disorientation is absolute. She can feel her heart rate pick up, and knows, intellectually, that she's overreacting, and yet she can't find it in herself to calm down. Because, for a few brief moments, she'd dreamt not of Donia's death, but of her _life_ , of the way she'd been when breath flowed in her lungs and vigor coursed in her veins. It's worse, somehow, than the dreams of her death, because those remind her of her failure, but this… this reminds her of why her failure still _hurts_.

She doesn't realize how badly she's shaking until she feels her teeth clack against each other in her jaw. Tyrus is still feigning sleep, but somehow she knows that this time the shivers aren't going to stop. Not on her own.

She reaches out to Tyrus, grasping his upper arm hard enough to bruise, and in an instant he stops feigning sleep, sitting upright as quickly as he can without startling her into hurting him (and when did he learn to do that? She doesn't think she wants to know) and searching her eyes. "Nemesis?" he asks softly. "What is it?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out, and all she can do is shake her head, teeth clacking against each other again as she closes her mouth.

Tyrus' eyes go wide. "Oh," he says, and something like recognition appears in his eyes, but Nemesis doesn't understand. She swallows, blinking hard, but nothing changes. Spots are starting to swim in her vision and some part of her is aware that she's hyperventilating, but she can't seem to stop until—

Tyrus reaches out toward her, pausing briefly before taking her hand and placing it over his chest. She stares down at her hand, trying to understand what he wants when—

"Breathe, Nemesis. Breathe with me."

_Oh._

She focuses her eyes on his chest, watching as he inhales slowly, holds his breath for a brief count, then exhales just as slowly. Her diaphragm aches with the pace of his breath, but this. This is something she can do. So she goes on staring at his chest, feeling its rise and fall under her palm until, with more effort than she thinks the situation should require, she manages to match her breathing to his.

Nemesis looks up at Tyrus, feeling the confusion in her gaze. "What was that?"

Tyrus' face is sad, and not a little distant. "A panic attack."

Nemesis frowns. "A what?"

"It's a physiological response to perceived danger, or a perceived threat of danger."

"But there was nothing dangerous."

Tyrus nods. "It doesn't always have to be something we would immediately recognize as danger. Anything that disrupts our sense of center can be enough."

Nemesis feels her eyes go wide. "Oh," she says softly, and Tyrus nods. "Oh."

Slowly, Tyrus pulls her in close, giving her a chance to resist. She doesn't. "It's okay that you still miss her. She was a part of your life—a part of _you_ —for so long. It's okay."

Nemesis presses her face into Tyrus' chest, eyes closed. "But she's gone. Missing her doesn't change that."

"No. But sometimes it helps you cope."

Nemesis swallows, feeling her still erratic heart rate gradually slow. She doesn't speak again that night. She doesn't need to. They both know this won't be the last time this happens, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it. They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for H/C Bingo Round 8! Unbetaed. [Come hang with me on tumblr!](http://hollyandvice.tumblr.com/)


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